


Chef Boyardee

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Food Kink, M/M, sort of, very brief instance of Sam fucking a can of ravioli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 16:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: “But,” eyes fluttering on a soft bit back gasp as Dean’s thumbs swirl over nipples, Sam squirms on his lap, and looks over his shoulder to the table, “dude, it’s a can of fucking ravioli.”





	Chef Boyardee

The worn down linoleum floor, scuffed and stained, creaked as Dean shifted his chair back to make more room for Sam in his lap. Knobby kneed and gangly with another growth spurt, Sam thumped his forehead against Dean’s shoulder and groaned. Curling his hands over bony hips and sweeping them up the curve of Sam’s back, an old threadbare t-shirt clinging to him with sweat, Dean bit back a laugh.

“C’mon, just try it.”

“Why? That’s not… who even thinks that’s sexy?”

Sam, mumble-mouthed against the bare skin of Dean’s shoulder, rubbed his peach-fuzz face back and forth.

“What? Are you kidding me. You know that blond, Crystal or something, from Ellet high a few years ago, remember her?”

Sitting up on Dean’s lap to give him a bitch-face, Sam said, “I remember you kicking me out of the motel to study with her.”

Sam’s disbelief that they were studying is a prickly sore thing.

Dean smiles at his little brother, rocks his hips and his hard on up against the practically nonexistent curve of Sam’s ass. “Mhm, it was hotter than this summer, broken ac, she brought over a carton of ice cream and told me to drip it on, god, she had he perkiest little tits - 

“Dean.”

“Baby you know I love your tits too,” dragging his hands around laddered ribs to spread over the flat expanse of Sam’s chest, nipples standing to attention under cotton, Dean tells him, “Point is, it drove me wild. People are definitely into that kind of thing.”

It’s too goddam hot and Dean can’t understand why Sam bothers to put on clothes but he shies away from Dean’s eyes sometimes, stretched thin with teen growth and mismatched limbs 

“But,” eyes fluttering on a soft bit back gasp as Dean’s thumbs swirl over nipples, Sam squirms on his lap, and looks over his shoulder to the table, “dude, it’s a can of fucking ravioli.”

Dean holds back his laughter. The can in question sits, opened, on the scuffed old table that had come with the partially furnished ‘house’ that they’re renting for the last month of summer and maybe a few months into the next school year. God knows Sam bitches enough about how it interrupts his studies to move so much. Now that Dean’s out of school, can find work for himself and hold down the fort when John hunts - when Dean doesn’t have to go too - it’s easier to stay in one place longer.

“Hey, it’s what we got in the house,” dragging his hands down to Sam’s waist, too small jeans cutting in to the flat of his belly, Dean pulls a dirty trick and spreads his fingers feather light up under Sam’s shirt, almost tickling, but it makes him go shivery. “M’bored. It’ll be fun.”

Dean kind of hates canned ravioli anymore. As a kid, it wasn’t like he could make much to eat for Sam other than something that came out of a can or a box, but christ he’s eaten way too much Chef Boyardee in his life.

Sam, squirming and looking up through messy hair that’s grown long to cover the zits on his forehead, grumbles. “You’re weird.”

Laughing, Dean covers the span of Sam’s ass with his hands and squeezes. “You know that already.”

Nudging Sam off his lap, boner clear as day when Sam shifts and pulls his jeans a different way, Dean nods his head in encouragement. Skin sticking to the wood of the chair with sweat, Dean peels himself off to sit forward, swipes the back of his hand against his forehead. Insects hum outside in the hazy heat and summer is a restless time.

Sam picks up the open can, looks at it with a frown, looks at Dean.

Dean doesn’t break the spell by talking anymore, he knows he’s got Sam, all he needs is a little patience.

Huffing, Sam sets the can down, opens his jeans, dick hard and christ it’s outpacing him in the growing department. Squeezing it, Sam curls over himself a little, baggy faded t-shirt that used to be Dean’s draped and hiding him, but Sam’s less nervous about showing his big brother his dick than anything else on his body.

Taking a deep breath, Sam screws his eyes shut and holds his dick for a second and Dean is this close to cajoling when Sam determinedly opens his eyes again, picks up the can of ravioli, and sticks his dick in it.

Dean has to work not to laugh, but instead he leans over, braces his forearms on his knees, gets a little closer to watch and holy shit Sam is actually going to do it. Prissy, pushing his jeans down and holding his shirt up like he’s trying not to be too messy, Sam holds the can still and moves his hips to fuck into it. 

Ravioli falls out, plops wetly on the floor, and Sam only gets about half of his dick inside before he can’t fit anymore. It’s a sloppy suction noise when he pulls out, hips twitching, look of mortification on his face bright red like he can’t decide if he wants to go forward again. 

Sam gives it a few tentative fucks and Dean can’t hold a straight face anymore. 

Covering his mouth with a hand, Dean leans back in the chair and laughs. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you actually did it.”

Hands falling to his lap, sprawling big brother smug at having pulled it off, Dean watches as Sam’s face contorts, works it out, then he’s slamming the ravioli on the table and standing in the middle of the kitchen dripping sauce on the floor.

“What?”

“I mean, if I’d of known all it would take to get you to do anything, was to be sucking you on the regular, I’d of put your little dick and balls in my mouth a long time ago.”

Tipping the chair back, belly cramping with laughter, Dean’s crying a little it’s so goddam funny.

“I hate you so much Dean.”

“Nah, you don’t. Sweetheart.”

Sam fiddles with his jeans, looking unwilling to pull them up and get them any dirtier, has his shirt still rucked up under his pits and his flat belly is sucked in as he curls his toes and his fists, glares at Dean.

“Ungh, whatever, I’m going to shower.”

“Don’t be like that. C’m’ere.”

Reaching out and snagging a loop on Sam’s jeans, Dean pulls him closer.

“Bet it woulda been so much easier to put you to bed with a blowjob.”

Sam, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, lets himself be pulled closer. “Not with dad around.”

Pushing off the edge of his chair, Dean kneels on the floor, braces his hands on bony hips and kisses his brother’s flagging erection.

“Oh, ew.”

Licking his tongue around the head, Dean looks up to see Sam watching him, closes his lips around it and sucks just the tip.

“Dude, that’s gross. The sauce is all cold, it’s. God. You are so gross.”

Not like Sam is going anywhere.

‘Sides, it’s not the grossest thing Dean’s ever put in his mouth.

Slipping his hands around to the small of Sam’s back, pulling him closer, Dean swallows him down. The taste of tomato sauce doesn’t really do much for the whole experience, but the way Sam gasps at the first push of his cockhead into the back of Dean’s throat, Dean fucking lives for that sound.

Spindly fingers tangle through Dean’s sweat spiked hair, Sam finally giving up on playing the reluctant maiden, hips fucking forward into Dean’s mouth and Dean relaxes into it. Can’t quite sit back on his heels like he used to, Sam too tall for that now, but there’s something satisfying about achy knees and a sore jaw.

Spit running thick, dripping down his chin with the last of the sauce, Dean’s hard in his own jeans but he ignores it, uses his hands to hold on. Grunting, Sam shoves home, buries himself so deep Dean can’t breathe, fat dick feeling like it can take up every inch of him.

Dean feels his brother’s dick twitching in his mouth, dead give away, and he can hold on without air a little longer. The way Sam clutches him tighter, grinds his pelvis against Dean’s face, yeah. Yeah. Shoved down his throat, Dean doesn’t taste it at first, but Sam pulls back, always, holds his dick on Dean’s tongue through the last of it, lingering thick bitter and Dean sucks hard. Curls his tongue around the crown, hands sliding over Sam’s hips to squeeze at the root and drag, Dean gets it all.

There’s only a little tomato sauce left in his pubes when Sam pulls back.

Coughing, Dean swipes a hand against his messy chin, pushes himself back up into his chair. “See, told you it’s fun.”

“You’re a jerk.”

Thumbing open the button his jeans, Dean drags the zipper down and pulls his dick out. Red and dripping, he only needs a few strokes to finish.

“You gonna give me a hand?”

Dean looks to his little brother expectantly. Sam holds his open jeans half on with one hand, dick still mostly hard. It never does go down much these days.

Hair slicked to his forehead with sweat and flushed red down to his navel, Sam kicks out of his jeans and pulls his tee over his head. Knows what Dean likes to see.

Sam steps between Dean’s thighs, sinks down to his knees and Dean has to spread a little wider for those broadening shoulders. Tangling his fingers in cornsilk soft hair as Sam purses his mouth to the crown of Dean’s dick, teases with a kitten lick before wrapping his lips like a bow tied tight and going down, down. 

Dean sighs.

“That’s my boy.”


End file.
